


Elysian

by humanveil



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Domesticity, M/M, Murder Husbands, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Dr. Du Maurier said you were in love with me.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elysian

When Will regains consciousness, it’s to painful grunts in his ear and the distinct sound of water crashing against rock, to the coppery taste of blood still invading his mouth. His eyes are shut, but he can feel Hannibal carrying him, bridal style like he had all those years ago.

His clothes are heavy with water and blood and he opens his eyes for a second, sees Hannibal in a similar state, and shuts them again. He had thought they would die – had been ready to, if Hannibal was going with him.

However, here they both were; Hannibal using the last of his strength to carry him somewhere he can, presumably, take care of their wounds. He tries to say something, but Hannibal’s already telling him to stay quiet before he can get a single syllable out so he just shuts his mouth and lets his mind fall back into the bliss unconsciousness offers.

\---

The second time Will wakes, he’s in a bed he doesn’t recognise with a migraine handed to him by Satan himself.

The unique smell of blood still lingers in the air, in his mouth, but he can also smell medical disinfectant, can feel bandages against his shoulder and stitches in his cheek. He opens his eyes, blinking a few times to see through the blur, and looks down. His wounds hurt more now that the adrenaline isn’t pumping through his veins, but they’re clean, bandaged – he should be fine.

He doesn’t think about what his face will look like when the cut heals.

Turning his head to the side, he spots Hannibal in the room’s adjoining bathroom. There’s blood and tissues and medical equipment all over the place, but his hands are moving skilfully over his own wounds and his face doesn’t look concerned. He, too, will be fine.

Will watches him finish dressing the wound, watches him wipe down the sink and bath of blood and discard of the tissues and ruined bandages. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out at first, just a rough kind of grunting sound that works as a greeting.

Hannibal turns so quickly Will thinks he might fall backwards, but he doesn’t – of course he doesn’t, Will thinks, far too much grace. It takes him a moment to register that Will’s awake, but then he’s filling a cup with water and walking over to the bed. He sits on the edge near Will’s torso and puts the cup on the nightstand while he helps Will into a sitting position.

“Are you alright?” he asks, picking the water up and pressing it gently to Will’s lips.

Will shuts his eyes as he swallows the water, savouring the cooling sensation in his mouth and throat, “Yeah, you?”

Hannibal places the water on the stand again and waves his hand as if dismissing the question, “Hardly the worst injuries I have sustained, dear Will.”

Leaning back against the headboard, Will smiles slightly. “Of course not, silly me for asking.”

Hannibal smirks and stares at Will’s face for a moment, not saying anything. “I must go soon,” he says eventually, sighing. “Are you coming with me, Will?”

Will copies Hannibal’s actions, eyes trailing over the older man’s face as he thinks the proposition over. He isn’t stupid; he knows Hannibal won’t change, knows exactly what kind of bloody mess he’ll be voluntarily embarking on if he says yes. He takes a moment to think about the life he’s created without Hannibal, thinks about the way the last few weeks has changed him, thinks about the last few conversations he had with Dr. Du Maurier.

He takes a moment to mourn the loss of his dogs, and then, with his eyes staring directly into Hannibal’s, says “Yes.”

It’s not like he’d be able to return to his old life, anyway.

\---

Will isn’t entirely sure how Hannibal manages it, but soon enough they’re standing in Bedelia Du Maurier’s home, Hannibal’s intentions obvious.

He thought it would be quick, considering the two of them were on the run from the FBI and all, but Hannibal takes his time. He doesn’t kill her immediately, choosing instead to savour every minute.

He cooks her left leg first – calls it something ridiculous Will thinks could be translated to mean ‘leg of lamb’, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He wears the suit Hannibal picks out, helps Bedelia put on the dress Hannibal wants her to wear, and eats the meal.

It doesn’t seem as disgusting as it did the first time, eating another human. Will can almost see why Hannibal has a taste for it.

Bedelia endures the meal, obviously uncomfortably and, despite what she wants them to believe, disgusted. She eats the meat of her own leg, though, knowing it would only be worse if she were to refuse.

When the meal is done, Hannibal carries her to her bedroom and places her on the bed gently. They converse quietly in a language Will doesn’t speak, and when they quiet, he thinks he sees Bedelia almost smile.

Will watches as Hannibal brushes the hair away from her face, watches the familiar hands trails gently across her skin. He sees Hannibal stand with his back against the wall so he’s now facing Will, sees Hannibal lean over her body, his hands wrapping securely around Bedelia’s neck and watches as he snaps her neck clean, watches as the life leaves her eyes.

Even in death she looks beautiful, and Will can’t help but think that’s exactly how Hannibal intended it to be.

\---

They flee the country directly after.

Will has no idea how Hannibal pulls it off, has no real desire to know, either,  if he’s perfectly honest with himself. What he does know is that they’re on a plane before the remaining parts of Bedelia’s body have cooled, new identities already taken care of.

They’re about three hours into their flight when Will realises that he doesn't even know where they're going.

For some reason, he hadn’t thought to ask. He’d just done what Hannibal said to do, said what Hannibal told him to say. It seems stupid now that he’s on the plane, to blindly follow the orders of a serial killing cannibal, but Will can’t bring himself to care that much.

He had never been fond of flying, so he’d zoned out the second Hannibal showed him where his seat was, eyes glued to the beige coloured seat in front of him. He hasn’t missed much, considering all Hannibal’s done in the last twenty minutes is critique the wine the aeroplane had served him. Will thinks that after three years in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Hannibal should be happy with whatever they give him.

He exhales loudly, turning in his chair so his body is facing Hannibal. “Where are we going?” he murmurs, fingers pinching the material of his arm rest.

Hannibal turns to him, eyebrows raised, “You didn’t read the board?”

“No,” Will says, shrugging.

Hannibal looks particularly smug when he replies, “I think I’ll keep it a secret.”

Will makes a low whining noise, and Hannibal’s pleased expression only gets worse. “Tell me,” Will murmurs, waiting a moment before adding “Please.”

Hannibal places his hand atop of Will’s, immediately stopping its pinching actions. He rubs slow circles into the surprisingly smooth skin, proud of himself when he incites a sigh from the other man.

“Russia,” he finally responds.

\---

Of all the places Will had expected Hannibal to take him, Moscow had never crossed his mind. He had never thought Hannibal would be fond of Russia, yet he seems to know his way around, Will realises as he follows the other man through the airport.

He can’t help but think staying here might be a little difficult, because he doesn’t speak a word of Russian, but Hannibal speaks the language like it’s his mother tongue and walks around like he owns the place, so Will thinks they’ll be okay.

He's still relieved when Hannibal tells him they'll only be there for a week or two, just until he finishes sorting out the legalities of their new lives. 

“No one here will care much about what we’re doing, they have their own problems,” Hannibal says as he leads Will out of the airport, “No one will ask too many questions.”

“Good,” Will mumbles, carrying two of their three bags.

He’d half expected Hannibal to have a car waiting for their arrival, or perhaps a cab, but they walk for a while before Hannibal leads him to a busy street. Will watches as cars fly past them, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, Hannibal simply sticks out his hand to the street as if hailing a cab, yet Will doesn't see any.

“What are you doing?”

“We’ll need a lift to the apartment, Will,” Hannibal answers as if it’s obvious. “It’s too far to walk.”

“With a random guy in a car?” Will asks, slightly shocked. “How do you know it’s safe?”

Hannibal smirks in his direction, arm still raised, and Will realises what he’s just said. “Are you honestly worried a murderer will pick us up?”

“What if one does?”

“Then I suppose we'll have a car and dinner sorted,” he says simply. “Actually, it would be rather useful,” he says as an afterthought, looking at Will. “Don’t you think?”

Will opens his mouth to reply – something about him not believing he _chose_ this – when he’s interrupted by a car finally pulling up to the street in front of him and Hannibal.

The driver of the car winds their window down and Will can see a middle aged white man in the driver’s seat and a slightly younger looking woman in the passenger’s seat. He sees Hannibal smile politely before leaning down so his face is near the window, he hears him say a few things that Will doesn’t understand whilst pointing in the direction of Will and their luggage. The man nods, replying with what Will imagines is a price as Hannibal gives his thanks and straightens up, opening the car’s back door and motioning for Will to step forward.

Luckily for them, the back seat of the car is spacious and they and their luggage both fit comfortably. Will sits behind the women and Hannibal behind the driver, something he thinks may be strategic, but he makes no comment. In fact, he says nothing the entire ride, choosing instead to play with the loose thread of his jacket while Hannibal makes small talk with the women. 

It's not long before the car pulls into a residential street and Hannibal fishes money out of his wallet to hand to the driver. He exchanges a few more words that Will takes to be thank yous and goodbyes, and then they're out, walking down the normal looking street while the car drives away.

Hannibal leads him to a nice looking apartment building and Will takes a moment to be surprised that Hannibal owns an apartment in Moscow before shaking his head at himself, because  _of course_  Hannibal owns a bloody apartment in Moscow. Probably under a fake name, the bastard. 

“We'll stay here until everything is sorted,” Hannibal says, leading him up a dusty stairwell. 

Will nods, standing closer to the other man than he probably needs to, but he's cold and tired and his body aches; he just wants a warm bed, a hot shower, and possibly some of Hannibal's cooking. Hannibal smiles at him, softly, like he knows exactly what Will's thinking and turns into a corridor to their left. They reach an apartment on the second floor and Will's glad when they don't draw the attention of any of the other residents. 

Hannibal reaches into his blazer’s pocket and produces a key, quickly opening the door and allowing Will to enter before him. Once inside, Hannibal opens curtains and blinds to allow light to filter through the rooms and watches as Will looks around.

The apartment is small, even by Will’s standards. It has small rooms with minimal furniture, absolutely no personal belongings to be seen, but everything they’ll need while they’re there. There’s no television, but there is a radio and shelves full of books.

There’s a small dining table to the right of the kitchen and Will follows Hannibal’s actions by placing his luggage on it.

Hannibal stands in the kitchen, moving quickly to re-plug the electronics. Once done, he runs the water in the sink, placing his hand under the hard spray and waiting to see if the water turns hot.  Will sees him nod in satisfaction when steam starts to rise and the hot water hits his hand.

“Go and shower.” he says, turning the water off and drying his hand on a small, decorated towel that hangs near the oven. “I’ll go and get us a few things.”

Will knows it’s stupid, but he has a moment where pure panic surges through him and he can’t help it when his eyes widen and his body instantly stills. Hannibal watches it happen and gets that look again, that small little smug smile, and is next to him in an instant.

He places his hand against Will’s unharmed cheek and speaks quietly. “You need not worry about my return, mon cher,” he states, thumb rubbing against Will’s cheekbone. “I did this for you.”

Will nods, swallowing audibly before looking Hannibal in the eye. “I know,” he says, leaning into Hannibal’s touch. “Go, I'll shower. Is there anything you want me to do?” 

Hannibal's hand drops but he doesn’t move away, “No, everything is fine for now.”

Will nods again and Hannibal turns to leave.

\---

He’s still in the shower when Hannibal returns. It had taken a little bit to figure out how not to disturb his wounds, but, once he had, he’s been happy to just stand there and let the hot water wash away the ache of sitting in a plane for so long.

Eventually, though, he does emerge from the shower, quickly and carefully drying himself off before getting into more comfortable clothes.

Walking into the kitchen, he sees items strewn across the bench and Hannibal moving expertly around the room to put things away neatly. Will examines the items he can see, taking notice of the foods and sanitary products. There are a few first aid kits, as well as some medical equipment Will didn’t think you could just buy from a store, but Hannibal probably has connections  _somewhere_  so he doesn't ask. He picks up a bottle of what he thinks is baby oil, but he doesn’t understand the labelling so he isn’t sure.

“For your face,” Hannibal says, grouping the remaining items in categorised piles. He points at the small bundle of soaps and oils and pushes them towards Will. “Put those in the bathroom for me, my good Will.”

Will doesn’t say anything, just nods and does as he’s told. He’s a little jealous that he had to use the soap that’s been in the shower for God knows how long, but it doesn’t _really_ matter so he drops it.

When he returns to their small kitchen, Hannibal’s finished putting everything away and seems to have started dinner preparations. Will takes a seat on one of the bench stools and asks if he can help, but Hannibal waves a dismissive hand and says he’s missed it, so Will just sits and watches. It reminds him of when they first met, of watching and helping Hannibal cook at the house in Baltimore.

He can’t help but wonder when his life got so fucked up.

“This apartment isn’t what I expected,” Will comments. “Small. Not very you.”

Looking up from his chopping board, Hannibal smirks. “It serves its purpose,” he says, returning to fish he plans to cook, “That’s all one can hope for.”

Instead of responding, Will leans back in the stool and continues to watch Hannibal cook, helping every now and then when Hannibal asks for it. Soon enough, dinner is done and Hannibal’s serving something ridiculously fancy with some expansive wine – because _of course_ he managed to find fine that suited his tastes.

They both eat slowly, sitting across from one another. Hannibal starts talking to him about fake names and papers, and Will listens carefully, absorbing the information so he won’t forget it and blow their cover.

Will’s new name is Antonio Simpson while Hannibal takes on the alias of Eloan Étienne. According to Hannibal, they’re now business men who met in southern France years ago. Despite owning business in different parts of the world, they’d managed to stay in contact but only now did Will agree to the idea of collaborating.

“Will we actually have to run a business?” Will asks, curious. He knows Hannibal has a rather large fortune, but he doesn’t think they’ll live solely off that.

“We can if you wish, but there are other ways to make money,” Hannibal replies after swallowing a bite of food. “I’d rather spend my time showing you the beauties Eastern Europe has to offer.”

Will smiles at him and swallows a mouthful of wine, “I’d like that.”

His brain hasn’t quite caught up to the idea that _this_ is his new life, but his heart flutters at the thought of running around Europe with Hannibal and he smiles throughout the entire time he spends helping the other man clean up after dinner.

Once the dishes are put away, Will sits curled up on the couch and listens while Hannibal talks on the phone for about an hour and a half, mouth moving rapidly as he swaps easily between languages. Will doesn’t understand any of it, and _honestly,_ he knows it’s going to grow to annoy him. He can already see himself looking through language dictionaries and listening to tapes so he can at least have some idea of what Hannibal’s going on about.

Hannibal passes him a file when the call ends and tells him he’s going to shower.

Will’s halfway through reading the papers of his new life when he remembers that the apartment only has one bed.

\---

Hannibal comes out of the bathroom dressed in silk pyjamas the colour of blood and Will isn’t even surprised anymore. He just sits up properly and shuts his file.

“Everything alright?” Hannibal asks, sitting next to him.

“Yeah, the alias seems solid.”

Hannibal nods but continues to stare at Will, “There’s something.”

Will sighs but he figures it’s going to come up anyway, so he might as well mention it. “There’s only one bed.”

Hannibal’s body tenses before he forces himself to relax and tilts his head to one side, “Do you mind sharing?”

Will stays quiet for a long moment before inhaling loudly and reminding himself that _this_ is what he wanted. He shakes his head, surprised when he finds he almost _enjoys_ the thought of sharing a bed with Hannibal.

“I don’t mind.”

\---

When they do eventually decide to go to sleep, Will finds he’s grateful that the bed is overly large and allows them to both lie on their backs without touching.

He finds it hard to sleep though, and after what feels like hours he opens his mouth to whisper, “Dr. Du Maurier said you were in love with me.”

He’d thought Hannibal was asleep, but the body next to him releases a deep chuckle and his head turns on the pillow so he can see Will. “I suppose I should have killed her _before_ she had a chance to spill my secrets.”

Will stares for a moment, eyes wide at the response, but then he can’t stop the small giggle the bubbles inside his chest and he finds himself moving closer to Hannibal, adjusting his body so his head is placed on the older man’s chest. He doesn’t say anything in response, just grabs one of Hannibal’s hands with his own and pushes it in the direction of his curls, smiling when Hannibal obediently starts running his fingers through the hair.

Listening to the pleased sigh and solid heartbeat of the other man, Will falls asleep almost instantly.

\---

They spend just under three weeks in Moscow.

Just as Hannibal had said, they hadn’t been bothered by anyone; no one had asked any invasive questions or pried into their private lives.

Surprisingly, Hannibal managed to go the entire time without killing anyone, and, for that, Will was grateful.

Will would follow Hannibal when the other man went out, and, after some time, he’d started to pick up on words and phrases, started to understand snippets of conversations Hannibal had with other residents.

They had continued to share a bed, and although they never spoke about it in the morning, one of them would always end up curled in the other’s arms.

 

Now, though, they were making themselves comfortable on a train. The ride from Moscow to Berlin was excessively long and tedious, but a train was more anonymous than an aeroplane, and they’d both agreed it was a more suitable option.

Will wishes there was more room to move in the tiny bunk of their cabin; or rather, he wishes there was more room for him to be able to join Hannibal in the bottom bed. The hard mattress made his shoulder hurt more than usual, and Hannibal’s chest seemed like a more appropriate bed.

Instead of voicing that thought, however, Will just shifts again, sighing loudly, “I hate sleeping in these things.”

Hannibal hums his agreement, eyes looking up at the dark underside of Will’s bed. “I much prefer it when you’re in my arms,” he murmurs quietly, and Will’s glad Hannibal can’t see the goofy grin that brings to his face.

\---

Hannibal does have a car waiting for them when they arrive in Berlin, and Will smiles when the chauffeur takes their luggage from them and Hannibal opens the door for him.

“Always the gentleman,” he jokes as Hannibal slides in next to him.

Hannibal chuckles buy stays quiet as the car takes them to another apartment, much nicer this time. The décor reminds Will of both the Baltimore home and Florence apartment, and he can’t help but comment on Hannibal’s taste.

The apartment is two stories and has three bedrooms, but Will follows Hannibal to the room the other man considers his. He watches as Hannibal opens the wardrobe and is surprised to find it already packed full with colourful suits and other high end clothing.

“I had someone fill them with clothes,” Hannibal explains, unpacking the little belongings they brought with them. “Your room is across the hall.”

“Oh,” Will says so quietly Hannibal doesn’t hear him. He hates himself for the disappointment he feels; of course they’d only shared a bed because it was convenient.

“I’d like to give you this before you unpack,” he says, handing Will a body suit made entirely of plastic. “I’d like to teach you how to hunt, dear Will.”

Will can feel a feral smile creep onto his face as he takes the suit, holding it close to his chest.

\---

Sleeping alone in his own bed is harder than Will thought it would be.

His thoughts won’t stop and no matter how many times he tells himself he’s an idiot for it, he misses the warmth of Hannibal’s body.

He spends over forty minutes deliberating if Hannibal’s having as much trouble as he is before he racks up enough courage to creep out of his room and over to Hannibal’s. There a soft light shining through under the door, and Will smiles to himself before knocking gently.

It’s barely a moment before Hannibal calls out for him to come in, so he opens the door and leans against the wall, his scarred shoulder hidden from sight.

Hannibal stares when Will appears in his doorway, a small smile creeping onto his face as his eyes trail over the bare skin of Will’s torso. He places the book he’d been reading on his nightstand and gives his full attention to the younger man.

It takes a moment, but eventually Will opens his mouth, and although it’s not exactly what he'd planned on doing, he repeats “Dr. Du Maurier said you were in love with me.”

It wasn’t what Hannibal had expected, and he stills for a moment, hardly daring to breathe. Neither of them say or do anything for what feels like hours but was probably only minutes, and then Hannibal finally lets out a tiny sigh and, with his eyes locked on Will’s, nods. “Yes,” he exhales, voice breathy and barely audible.

Will looks at the ground before grinning and meeting Hannibal’s eyes. He moves into the room slowly, shutting the door behind him before kneeling on the edge of the bed. Hannibal pushes the covers away from his body, eyes never leaving Will’s as the younger man crawls towards him, knees moving to rest on either side of his thighs, straddling him.

Will initiates the first kiss, sighing softly as his lips move gently across Hannibal’s while the other man brings his hands to move against his back. Their movements are gentle at first, experimental, hands and lips moving across bodies they’re not used to.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s not.

Tongues colliding and teeth clashing against teeth replace the movement of lips against lips, hands stop trailing across skin and start clutching at body parts hard enough to leave bruises that will last days. Grunts and screams of pleasure replace the soft sound of sighs and nails start scratching hard enough to draw blood and cause wounds neither will want to heal.

Cries of _yes_ and _please_ and _more_ and _mine, mine, **mine**_ fill the room as Hannibal moves mercilessly in and out of Will’s body, and it’s not long before the both of them are coming, howling into the night.

Afterwards, when he and Hannibal are lying naked, still panting as they try and catch their breaths, Will thanks himself for following Hannibal, because he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good in his entire life.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> this was intended to be a rather small pwp, yet somehow _this_ happened.  
>  ~~it got so off track it turned into all plot and literally no porn.~~
> 
> This is actually the first hannigram fic that I've finished (all my other ones are half finished and refuse to co-operate), so kudos/feedback/constructive criticism is welcome.


End file.
